


A New Friday Night Ritual

by Chinesepapercut



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Post Series, santos admin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinesepapercut/pseuds/Chinesepapercut
Summary: This is why I always invite Margaret to nights like this. If you think you’ve got a story, Margaret’s always got a better one.Takes place post series.
Relationships: Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg, Helen Santos/Matt Santos, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	A New Friday Night Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those silly wish fulfillment stories (in part because the much more talented ETraytin never finished Iron Bars a Cage and I felt I had to have a decidedly more bawdy closure). There are several references in this story that I know aren’t historically accurate and I just don’t care. Sadly, if you are looking for smut, there is none here, just lots of talk about smut hence the M rating. I only pray that this story serves as inspiration to some of our great smut writers who may take up one of these stories and flesh it out more fully into an x-rated a work of their own. The harvest is rich but the laborers are few.

It's Monday morning and I'm about to do something I really don't want to do. But before I can, I have to find the First Lady. Her schedule has her in the Residence so that's where I start looking. I'm halfway down the main corridor when I hear a clatter coming from the family kitchen.

As I enter, I'm greeted with the sound of her cursing under her breath. She's up to her elbows in corn flour dough. A rolling pin, plastic wrap and little bits of dough litter the counter she's using as her workspace. The floor around her feet is also littered with scraps.

"I've helped make tamales at Christmas how hard could this possibly be, I thought," she grumbles under her breath.

"Ma'am?" I greet her. She looks up and for just a moment I notice she has a look in her eye that I haven't seen since the campaign trail. It's the look like she's a trapped animal about to try to gnaw its own leg off to escape.

"Oh, hey Donna," she says. The look disappears.

I raise one questioning eyebrow at her in response.

"This is Matt's mom's tortilla recipe. Matt and Peter have both inexplicably gotten homesick for Abuela Carmen's food," she explains while motioning to the counter.

I watch as she peels a piece of flattened tortilla dough off a piece of plastic wrap. The moment she frees it, big fissures open up and it begins to fall apart in her hands. She rushes to place it on the griddle on the stovetop before it falls apart completely. She waits a moment then she flips the larger pieces of the tortilla and sweeps away the crumbled bits. It strikes me that this is probably a metaphor for her life these days.

A pot that smells somewhat enticing is bubbling on the stove. I inch over and peer in.

"That's pozole," she says. "I can at least make that."

"You were a stay at home mom, I thought you could cook?" I say, before I quickly edit, "I mean, we published a list of your favorite recipes." I'm dialing back through my memory, but I can't remember including any tortilla recipes in there.

"Yes, I can cook," she says, blowing away a piece of hair that's fallen into her eyes as she works another ball of dough with her rolling pin. "But not Mexican classics. I'm a white mother from the suburbs. I'm expert at chocolate chip cookies, grilled cheese and peanut butter and jelly. For special occasions I make cupcakes from a box."

"Ah, I see."

"I'm not a natural cook as you'd say it. And, it takes lots of time and practice to get good at things like tortillas."

I sense the desperation that has settled in the room and quickly pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial my assistant. "Ellen, can you get Don Emiliano's on the phone? We need a dinner order catered to the residence tonight. Beans, rice, carnitas, and lots of corn tortillas. 6 pm. Thanks."

"How do you always make it look so easy?" she asks.

"First, I'm not trying to be mother of the year here. You've never seen me in the kitchen. Second, you're a very important lady now. It's about giving yourself permission to not be good at something and delegating it to someone who is," I tell her as I clear the bowl with the ruined dough from the counter and dump it into the trash. "And honestly, I'm not all that good at it, delegating that is. But I am good at ordering dinner."

She laughs ruefully and moves to the sink to wash her hands. "Before I met Matt, my idea of Mexican food was a margarita with chips and salsa that the local Texmex joint. I had no idea about all of this, sopes, pozole, tamales at Christmas. Anyway, enough about that," she pivots, as she dries her hands on a dishtowel, "what did you need?"

"It's about the schedule. Ma'am, I'm sorry but I won't be able to come up to the residence on Friday night."

"Oh no, why not?" she looks genuinely disappointed.

Over the past four months we've been in office, the First Lady and I have developed a kind of Friday night ritual. Sometimes Annabeth joins us, but mostly it's just the two of us. Over a light dinner or snacks we watch The Bachelor, which she TIVO's every week, while we have a "girlfriend chat." Her words, not mine. It's always very tame. We talk about food, maybe a little office gossip. I let her complain about the President and, if there is anything I want her to bend the President's ear on, I usually take that time to drop it on her and we devise a plan as to how she'll convince her him to get it done for us.

We also split a bottle of white wine, from which I conscientiously only ever have 2 glasses because, as it turns out, the speaking truth to power when drunk isn't just limited to Josh who is used to my mouth full of sass or Abby Bartlet who only ever let it happen once.

On one memorable occasion, Sam and his fiancé Erica, Josh and the President joined me and Helen for our Friday night get together. We ditched The Bachelor for dinner, things ran later than usual and well, I didn't stick to my strict 2 glasses of wine policy. I ended up getting a little tipsy and lecturing the President and Josh on a policy move they'd made the past week that I, apparently, really didn't agree with. Helen and the President were highly amused. Josh was not and cut me off about ¾ through my rant, sternly telling everyone that he'd make sure I got home safely and that I apologized when I was sober.

Since then Josh has put the kibosh on any further happy hours with the President. But it's not all bad. Now Helen and I have a standing biweekly meeting with Josh and the President in the Oval Office to hash out any policy directives that don't align – strictly sans alcohol of course.

Helen's never directly asked me about my relationship Josh, but after that night I think she correctly made the assumption that we're together.

For his part Josh likes my standing Friday night date with Helen, too. Not only does it allow him to stay late to catch up on reading without feeling guilty, I'm almost always finished in the residence around 8 at the latest so the night is still youngish when I'm done. At least young enough to take me home, get me a little more drunk and have his way with me. It's kind of become our own Friday night ritual.

But it won't be our ritual this Friday because I've got a girl's night planned. A real one. Like one I used to have back in the day. CJ's in town for a few days and, since it's her last month before she starts fertility treatments, she wants to get wasted so I've invited Margaret and Carol to join us.

"I, uh, I have a girlfriend in from out of town, we're having a get together with a few of our other friends."

Helen looks at me expectantly, "I'm invited right?"

"Um, ma'am, I'm just not sure that's a good idea."

"Donna, you just ma'amed me and you're about to take away the only bit of fun I have every week. Please, please tell me I can come to girl's night."

Now I feel bad. Helen considers white wine and The Bachelor her only bit of fun every week? I can already feel myself capitulating when I think about that. Here I thought she just felt sorry for her Chief of Staff with no personal life and carried on with our Friday night get togethers because of me.

As the week progresses, I can feel my excitement over Friday night build in a delicious way. I have been so head-down on work these past few months that I forgot how much I missed having regular nights out with my friends. Being the boss rather than the assistant has been a big jump for me. Josh has been doing his best to counsel me, doing an especially good job at keeping us out of the tabloids and the focus on the President's message, but admittedly that's sucked a lot of spontaneous fun out of my life, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm not upset to have traded dancing at the club with Bonnie and Ginger or going out on an endless string of pathetically bad dates for quiet nights spent home with Josh and polite conversation with the First Lady. It's just that it's taken the anticipation over a Girls Night for me to realize that I've been always-on for the past 4 months and if you count the campaign before that, it's been almost two years. It gets exhausting after a while and the thought of letting my hair down even for just a night really has me excited.

I think my friends may be feeling the same way, too. As formerly efficient assistants, Carol, Margaret and I have wasted a lot of time this week making and remaking all the plans in a group text. After discussing the relative merits to several different and frankly ridiculous themes (Carol wanted an egg theme, Margaret suggested we strictly limit food to those known to boost fertility according to Chinese medicine), I drew on inspiration from my conversation with Helen on Monday and suggested we have margaritas and take out Tex-Mex. They readily agreed and then we all split up responsibilities for who is bringing what.

CJ is planning to get "good and drunk" so she has made a "reservation" to stay in our guest bedroom on Friday night and has been sending me emails with silly mock demands all week, too. Unfortunately Josh very quickly nixed my suggestion that he greet her wearing a French maid costume and offer her turn down service. Instead he assured me that he'd come up with a suitably pedantic response to her demands, but then he refused to discuss it more, telling me that if he told me what he had planned that I'd just warn her anyway and that would take the fun out of it.

Actually, all kidding about CJ aside, Josh won't be there on Friday. He'd kill me if I told anyone else this, but upon hearing the guest list, he registered a slight bit of fear in his eyes then magnanimously offered to see if Sam could clear out his guest bedroom for the night. Sam, upon hearing the guest list, eagerly agreed.

Over the course of the week Helen also drops by my office a few times to ask for details. It's the normal woman questions of course. What she should wear, if she can bring anything and the like. With great reticence I've already cleared her attendance with Ron Butterfield's team. Since she's going to the apartment of the Chief of Staff who already has his own detail and all the guests are former White House employees it was a fairly easy request. But I don't tell her that. She's getting really excited and I'm getting really apprehensive about her attendance.

Instead I assure her that she absolutely does not need to bring anything, however, I feel compelled to set expectations further.

"This group of friends, girlfriends, they can get a little, um, bawdy. It's kind of like Vegas, what happens at girl's night stays at girl's night."

She assures me it's ok, her group of friends had a wine night every month and as a married mother of two there isn't a lot we can say or do that will shock her. But I'm still afraid she's going to see a side of me I never meant to show her so I try again.

"Ok, but by agreeing to this, you are also agreeing to attend as my friend. I'm not your employee on Friday night."

She's got that smile, the smile that I used to give Josh when he had just asked me to do something completely unreasonable and I was just expected to make it happen because he's Josh. This smile is something that I think helped us bond.

"Donna, I promise, you don't have to treat me with kid gloves. God, I was the one who made tabloid headlines for having a tramp stamp, I guarantee you, you can't shock me nor do you need to protect me, it will be fine."

Famous last words, I'm sure.

By Friday afternoon it's difficult for me to concentrate on work so I'm grateful to slip out of the office a little early to get the apartment ready. It doesn't take me long to get things in order. Fresh sheets on the guest bed. Josh's dirty boxer shorts picked up from the bathroom floor. Dishwasher emptied and a double batch of guacamole made.

CJ arrives first with enough liquor to float the Spanish Armada. She's been here several times when it was Josh's bachelor pad so she immediately makes herself at home and by that I mean she proceeds directly to the kitchen and sets to work mixing two pitchers of margaritas. One regular and one she calls Italian margaritas which have Grand Marnier and amaretto added.

Margaret arrives next with two bags of carry out Mexican food. She looks around suspiciously. I haven't told Margaret that Josh and I are living together, but I know she's been working remotely for CJ in some sort of capacity so I suspect CJ told her and that's why she's looking around as if he may jump out from the corner like a boogie man at any minute. I also wouldn't be surprised if she knows because she'd had Josh's address memorized from years of being an assistant where he worked. Lifetime assistants like Margaret have a head for details like this.

"I honestly wouldn't know Bartlet's Bulldog lived here," she remarks offhandedly as she sets her bags on the counter. "He does live her right, you didn't just take over the place and kick him out, did you."

"Yes," I laugh. "He's staying with Sam tonight, though."

She nods shortly in the way only she can. "I always knew you were a little crazy," she mutters.

We're taking everything out of Margaret's bags and putting the entrees in the oven to stay warm when Helen arrives. Helen's barely taken her jacket off when Carol arrives too.

"Jesus it's like Fort Knox in here," Carol says as I greet her at the door. Clearly she wasn't expecting the Secret Service interrogation she just got.

I take her bag and she follows me into the apartment. She stops short when she sees the First Lady. Carol doesn't work in the White House anymore, but she's still a political junky and she knows who the First Lady is even if she's dressed down in jeans and a flowered top. Carol's been working at Justice for Vets, a nonprofit in the District that advocates for veterans to have access to drug treatment court. If this wasn't a strictly no-working night I'd invite her to tell the First Lady about it. Veterans affairs really hasn't been on Helen's radar, but it's going to be a long 4 (hopefully 8) years and it could be something she'd want to bring attention to in years to come. But we'll have plenty of time for that some other time. Tonight is about getting CJ drunk.

I keep introductions short.

"Helen, this is Carol, she was the assistant to the office of the Press Secretary."

Carol practically curtsies. Helen gives her a tight smile.

"This is Margaret, she was the assistant to the Chief of Staff. She served for both Leo and CJ."

Margaret smiles politely but holds tight to her glass and doesn't offer her hand.

"And I'm sure you know CJ Cregg, she was President Bartlet's Chief of Staff."

"Oh of course, it's so good to meet you again," Helen says shaking CJ's hand.

I quickly press a margarita into Helen's hand. "Drink up," I tell her, "I think CJ brought enough liquor to…well, it's a lot of booze."

I've already set out warm chips and guacamole in the living room so I usher everyone in there while I finish breaking down the empty take out containers. I'm just returning from the kitchen with my own margarita when I hear Helen talking.

"I'm so glad to be able to let loose a little bit tonight," she's telling CJ and Margaret. "Donna and I have great Friday reality TV show time, but she's so prim and proper," Helen says, "she even debates policy when she's drunk."

Margaret and CJ raise their eyebrows at this. They know I have a criminal mind and a misspent youth. Over the years they've not only heard me disclose a fair amount about my young adulthood and my sex life, but they've also seen me do other wacky things like nearly getting arrested and having an entire wing of a Belarusian airport shut down. As my employer and the First Lady, Helen doesn't know these things about me and because of that she's making the assumption a lot of people make about me, that because I don't brag about partying hard I must be repressed. Usually when someone says something like this I just smile. No need to spill my secrets. The Mona Lisa is much more interesting because you don't know why she's smiling. This one throws me a little though because usually the people making this assumption about me are men. Less so recently since I've been hanging out with political nerds, but even Josh made some assumptions about my naivety that I've spent the better part of a decade disabusing him of. Even when our relationship became romantic I think he thought he knew everything about me because he was my boss for 8 years, but let's just say that he got the shock of his life when we finally started sleeping together. I like sex what can I say?

Fortunately, I don't get a chance to even let her know I've heard the comment before they move on.

"Is it safe to sit here?" CJ surreptitiously asks me pointing to the easy chair near the couch.

"I mean we have a cleaning lady, but if what you're after is what I think it is you'd better stick to the kitchen chairs. We prefer the counter or the floor in there so I don't think we've ever used them," I tell her in my best innocent voice.

CJ chokes on her drink. Everyone else turns to stare at her as she coughs and sputters. She waves everyone off as I move a kitchen chair into the living room for her.

Carol has brought Cards Against Humanity for us to play while we get liquored up, but we quickly decide that people running the country shouldn't be playing a game with such potentially racist overtones. I guess this is what differentiates us as Democrats. Instead, Margaret suggests we start playing a game of Never Have I Ever, except instead of standing or raising our hands we take a drink.

"I played it when we were doing the Painting with a Twist at my cousin's bridal shower," she explains in a way that doesn't really explain anything. This is my first time playing. All it takes is a few questions and I realize I'm going to get totally wasted.

Everyone except Carol drinks to skinny dipping, "What, I grew up in New York City, she says, it's not like we had friends who had houses with pools or the errant country lake like you, Donna," she says.

"Hey! You make it sound like I'm a country bumpkin!"

"Ok, but tell me your skinny dipping didn't happen in a lake."

I laugh, "Ok one of the times it was in a lake, fine!"

"Better a lake than a hotel pool after prom," Helen supplies helpfully.

"Never have I ever had sex in public," Carol calls out.

CJ and Margaret drink.

"What do you mean in public?" Helen asks.

"If you have to ask you probably should be drinking," CJ laughs. Then she narrows her eyes at me, "Never have I ever had sex with a republican."

"Guilty!" I own proudly and raise my glass before taking a drink.

I can see things are taking a turn toward the sexual side already, it's not really a surprise. My White House friends appreciate the smut. I think it's because we worked so hard for so long and had to repress so much during our time in service. CJ decidedly more than the rest of us. Hey, so what if I wasn't having sex with the love of my life? I still found time to get my share even if it was with guys I wouldn't bring home to my mother. CJ on the other hand lived every moment of her life in the White House as if she were surrounded by the press. At every turn I think she felt like she was about to be embroiled in a scandal and it was twice as bad for her because she was a woman. She probably wasn't wrong about that.

"Never have I ever watched porn with my partner," Margaret throws out with a giggle.

CJ and I drink.

"Was that before or after he was your boss," Margaret asks me directly and I immediately turn red. Margaret already knows it's not Josh I'm talking about because many years ago I'd admitted to her that my ex-boyfriend liked to watch porn with me so he could assuage his guilt over wanting to watch it at all. "It wasn't him and you know it. Besides we have not yet reached the storytelling portion of the night," I answer back tartly.

"Honey, we're going to assume every answer you give tonight is about him, just so you know," CJ says.

"Well in this case Margaret already knows I was talking about my ex-boyfriend from college, she's just giving me a hard time. Anyway, it's my turn. Never have I ever walked in on my parents having sex," I throw out. Helen drinks and mutters that it was traumatizing.

CJ laughs and follows up with her own addition "Never have I ever been caught in the act."

Margaret, Helen and I drink. Helen adds that depressingly it's only been by her children and she's thankful they're too young to remember it.

"Speaking of children, never have I ever been pregnant," Carol says raising her eyebrows. She thinks this is an easy question just meant to progress the party game, but it's not an easy question and it's also a little hurtful to CJ who has been very open with her fertility struggles. I sink back on the couch and turn to the side attempting to conceal the drink I take. This is a story I don't want to tell. Margaret and Helen drink too, much more openly.

"Donna!"

I pale. "I'm not drunk enough to talk about it," I mumble. Thankfully they drop it for now, but I'm sure I'll be questioned thoroughly by Helen later. "I think it's time for dinner anyway," I announce abruptly and get up from the couch.

They follow me to the kitchen and begin to pass around plates that I had set out as I line the food containers up on the counter. Everyone takes what they want and then we reconvene in the living room. CJ studiously sticks to the kitchen chair she'd been sitting in before even though it means she has to lean over awkwardly every time she wants to pick her glass up from the coffee table.

"Are we still playing our game?" Helen asks.

"Yeah, I think it was Donna's turn to share," Margaret says pointedly. I know what she's referring to, but I don't take the bait.

"Ok…." I say, wringing my hands a little bit as I work up the courage. "Never have I ever committed perjury," I say looking squarely at CJ as I break the rules of the game and take a drink. Maybe this is brazen, I'm essentially confessing to the former Press Secretary and Chief of Staff that I lied under oath. Much to my surprise, out of the corner of my eye I see Margaret too take a drink. Glad to know I'm not the only one. Fortunately my perjury admission sails over Helen's head because as it turns out she's just waiting for her turn to break the rules, too, and she goes for the jugular.

"Never have I ever…" she pauses for dramatic effect, "allowed someone in through the back door." She does a strange little chair dance as she finishes her statement and then takes a slow drink. Leave it to the First Lady to bring the really dirty stuff. Now I understand the tramp stamp. Carol looks confused. CJ cackles but doesn't drink. Once again Margaret also takes a drink. She's going to be drunker than me.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I'm doing this," I mutter and take a drink as quickly as I can before hanging my head in shame.

"Donna!" They shout in unison.

"I have to know how this discussion came up."

"Did he beg. Tell me he begged you to try it."

I'm not sure why everyone is so fascinated with my life, is it just because I'm with Josh now and they assume any dirt I spill is also about him?

"Oh no, we're not having a big discussion over this. I am not the only one that just admitted to it anyway."

"Oh yes we are!" Helen exclaims. "Donna, I had no idea you were like this!"

"Clearly not," I say clearing my throat. I've got a pretty good buzz going on right now, but I'm not so drunk I'm going to start adding details to the admissions I'm making about my intimate life right now. It's one thing for you to know a fact about your friend, it's an entire other thing for you to have enough details to be able to imagine it in your mind as it really happened.

"Carol have you taken a drink during this entire game?" CJ asks.

Carol gives us an embarrassed smile.

"Seriously have you ever even had sex?" I add even though I know she has, I just like piling on.

"I'm a romantic, I'm interested in the love and relationship portion of it, not like where's the craziest place we can have sex stuff," she says with a blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"Ok so where is the craziest place you've had sex," Helen asks. Clearly she sees Carol as a project.

"Um, in a car?" she looks unsure as she answers.

"Like while it was moving?" CJ asks.

"Or while the Secret Service was driving?" Helen chimes in.

"What about you Donna. Have you ever had sex in the White House?" CJ asks.

"Actually, no." I may sound smug. "Have you?" I ask looking pointedly back at CJ. I have always wondered about that. I don't even try to hide my glee that I finally get to ask.

She pales and takes a quick drink rather than responding verbally. She's lucky I don't ask her with who.

"Well I sure have," Helen says then she takes a drink even though the game portion of the night appears to be over.

"I have too," Margaret says matter of factly in only the way Margaret can.

"What the hell," CJ exclaims

"What did you do, forge the president's signature and get the Secret Service to let you into the Lincoln Bedroom for a little fun?" Carol asks with a giggle.

"Oh, that would have been a good idea! But no, Jake came to pick me up for dinner one night and, well, I was pregnant, the hormones were raging so we made a stop in the ladies restroom near the security gate."

"Oh well no one can argue with a pregnant lady's hormones," Helen agrees raising her glass slightly.

"Ok so she's White House, she's White House, or perhaps a moving car, I'm a stationary car," Carol tallies.

"No, mine's the Kremlin," Margaret corrects.

"What!?"

"Margaret we didn't even go to Russia while we were in office," I say, with shock evident in my voice.

"No, it wasn't while we were in office, it was a student trip I took to Russia, it was right after the wall came down."

We all blink at her in disbelief. This is why I always invite Margaret to nights like this. If you think you've got a story, Margaret's always got a better one.

"Ok," Carol amends, "so we've got, White House, White House plus Secret Service car, car and Kremlin. What about you Donna?"

Oh, I don't want to admit this. Do I lie? I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. The alcohol makes it difficult.

"Um, in a barn on a riding lawn mower. The lawn mower was on, too. The extra vibration was top notch." I give them a cheesy thumbs up as I say this.

They all look at me and burst out laughing.

"Ok, see while that's a funny story, that's definitely not the craziest place you've ever had sex. I know this because you've told me better stories than that," CJ says between gasps for breath.

"Oh God, CJ but that's the issue. I mean, who's the decider on that?"

"We can help you decide," Margaret offers. "What are the other options?"

"Um, well there was the time when we had sex in the pool in his mom's retirement community, I think that's the one you're thinking of CJ," it's amazing how comfortable I sound talking about this right now. Which isn't to say I feel totally comfortable right now, but they're like sharks who sense blood in the water. Showing them that I'm embarrassed will only spur them on.

"I thought you said you'd never had sex in public," Carol questions.

"I forgot about it when answering that question. Besides, no one else was there, it didn't really feel in public."

"Mm, something tells me you're still holding back," CJ says.

I cover my face with my hands and peek through my fingers. "Air Force One. It's Air Force One ok," I squeak quietly.

"There it is," CJ announces smugly.

"Oh my god, with who?" Helen exclaims at the same time. I immediately drop my hands, turn toward her and give her an exasperated look. She quickly closes her mouth which had fallen open in disbelief.

"It was a fantasy of mine ever since I did that research on Angel when you got stuck up there because the landing gear wouldn't come down," I say addressing CJ.

"Oh God, that was the worst," CJ recalls.

"Along with the maintenance, I was reading all about all the different sections of the plane and I must have been hormonal or something because all I found myself thinking about was a checklist of all the perfect places to do it." I also found myself thinking of my own obituary that night, but I don't bring it up. I've moved past that pretty well by now. Becoming the spokeswoman for a presidential campaign really cured me of that kind of thinking. Being Chief of Staff to the First Lady has also helped resolve any residual ennui.

"Figures," CJ says flatly, "here I thought we were going to die up there if they tried that whack a mole procedure to get the landing gear to come down and there you were down on the ground trying to figure out the best place to have clandestine sex if the plane ever came back in one piece."

"Oh come on, those pilots are the best of the best, you were never in any real danger," I say to CJ as I take another sip of my drink.

"I haven't even had sex on Air Force One," Helen says with a sort of reverence in her voice.

"Really? There's a private bedroom there for the president, I'm sure we can make it happen next time we take a trip," I tell her helpfully.

"Yeah but then you'll know we're having sex. "

"You don't think we all already know when you're having sex? We have to pencil it into the President's schedule." I cringe as the words just fly out of my mouth. Drunk Donna has arrived at the party. Hide your children folks.

Helen looks mortified.

"Donna, did you have sex in the President's personal cabin?" Carol asks.

"Oh my God, no!" I'm most definitely not providing details on where, when or how either, because then I can't do it again. And I'm most definitely planning on doing it again.

"Ok, ok, but back to the scheduling thing. You just explained to me last week that all of the President's daily schedules are made available to the Press, you called them something," Helen says while making a little circular motion with her hand.

"A tick tock." Margaret offers.

"Right, so, they can just read that and see that we snuck off for a quickie? Everyone knows when we've been having sex?"

"Oh no, it's not like that," CJ quickly steps in. "I mean it's quite likely his private secretary knows if it's in the middle of the day, possibly the chief of staff if you're close, but on the tick tock it's always in code."

"Honestly ma'am, your staff would rather know you're having sex than not. It was always a good indication of the state of the Bartlet's marriage if they were spending ample time barbecuing," Margaret supplies helpfully. "Because if they weren't, well the President was often grumpy."

I can tell Helen's trying to take this information in and doesn't quite know how to respond. I mean, how would you? It's weird to think about President and Mrs. Bartlet having marital relations and their staff knowing about it, isn't it? Imagine now that you're just realizing for the first time that everyone in the White House on the assistant level knows when you're having sex, too. I'm impressed she's not blushing. Or considering taking a 4 year vow of celibacy.

"Well I think we've entered the storytelling portion of the night now," Carol declares in an effort to change the subject.

"Oh, I've got a good one for that," Margaret says excitedly.

"We've all already heard this one," Carol says waving her hand at Margaret. Margaret's sex in a bathroom at her high school reunion is an old chestnut she likes to trot out during girl's nights.

"No, it's a new one. Trust me it's good," she says smoothing her hands out on her skirt as she waits for us to give her our attention. Carol and I top off glasses while Margaret clears her throat in an effort to set the scene just a little more. "When I was pregnant I had this really strong craving for hot peppers. Couldn't get enough of them. Jalapenos were my favorite, I had them at almost every meal."

Instantly I know where this is going, so I'm already cringing as she continues, but I suspect this will be new for CJ. Margaret is famous for her love of giving head. I once watched her demonstrate her technique on a cucumber and it was… impressive?

"I think I got a little immune to how hot they were because one night I had just finished up my evening craving snack and things started to get a little amorous with Jake. I did what I do you know, to get him primed and ready to go. Things were going well – he doesn't call me magic mouth for no reason. But I guess it was too soon after I'd last eaten a jalapeno. At first he didn't know what it was, he remarked that things were tingling in a strange way, but pretty soon it was like he was on fire. He actually started crying at one point. We didn't know what to do, I almost even called my mother, but how do you explain that, you know. In the end he had to soak it in a glass of milk to bring himself some relief."

Even though I had figured out where the story was going, Margaret's retelling has us in tears by the time she's done. She's even mimicking Jake holding his penis in a glass of milk in front of us. It's hysterical.

"OK, I think I have to break the seal," Helen says. "All this laughing is going to make me pee my pants if I'm not careful."

Margaret nods. "Mother troubles, I know all about that."

We all watch as Helen sways across the living room, half full margarita glass still in hand.

"How much has she had?" Carol asks quietly.

"I don't know, I don't make it a habit to monitor my boss's alcohol intake…"

All three of them look at me skeptically. "…anymore."

"So wait, what was she saying about how you debate policy when you're drunk? That sounds so very unlike you," CJ asks in a hushed tone.

"Oh God, one night they had us up for dinner in the residence and it was a rough week so I was a little on edge. I wasn't really even drunk, I just had enough wine to loosen me up. Josh had squashed something we'd been working on for weeks because of a national security thing and I was really upset for my team because it was the right thing to do and it really shouldn't have been a distraction from the message, you know? Anyway, I started arguing with him and Sam about it and the President jumped in and before you know it, I'm having an Abby Bartlet "you did the wrong thing you should give up your medical license" moment all over again. It really wouldn't have been a big deal until Josh got all father knows best, told me I'd had enough, took my wine glass from me and led me out of there."

"Well some things never change," Carol says giggling.

"You'd think, except on our way out he whispered in my ear about how I'd been a bad girl and he was going to have to spank me when we got home. So, as it turns out all those times he stopped me going all Donna outrage on people it was mostly because he was so turned on he needed to leave the room."

"Ok that's gross!" CJ proclaims.

"Donna! A man lives here," Helen hiccups as she flops back on the couch. We all watch in slight horror as the remaining contents in her glass slosh haphazardly and nearly spill out over the side. She catches the few errant drips that run down the side of her glass on to her hand elegantly with her tongue. If I were into women it would be rather erotic.

"Um, yeah?"

"Ok!" she responds cheerfully and finishes off the rest of her drink in one. Carol, who I have decided is a terrible influence when alcohol is involved, immediately pours a fresh drink into her glass. Helen smiles at Carol and raises her glass slightly in a cheers motion and takes another sip.

"Mrs. Santos? Can I ask a question?" Don't be fooled, Margaret sounds more professional than polite when she asks this. "How did the bed get broken?"

Helen looks a little taken aback. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

This sets us all into a fit of giggles. If there is a group of women who know what absence does to the sex drive it's us.

"No seriously, he's a big man, but the bed actually broke?"

I love how Margaret just goes in for the kill here. Helen would have been mortified if anyone on the campaign trail had brought this up, but she's completely nonplussed by Margaret's questioning. Although, that could just be the tequila.

"No seriously, I couldn't walk properly for a week."

"I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, but Josh said after that story came out one of the members of the campaign staff coined the nickname Hurricane Santos for the President," I add because I can't help myself.

"That's it!" Helen declares, "any time I'm mad at him from now on we're calling him Hurricane Santos in our staff meetings." We all start laughing again at this.

"Oh God, you're going to get me into so much trouble with Josh," I tell her as I wipe the laughter tears that have formed in my eyes.

"Who cares, he's my husband, I can call him whatever the hell I want," she exclaims.

"I'm just glad to hear you're still having sex after two kids," CJ says. "I feel like I'm giving up so much to try to have a baby and everyone keeps telling me that my sex life is going to go too. I just got a sex life again, I don't know that I want to give it up."

"Actually," Helen says, "sex got better after we had kids. I mean, for me anyway. Sure, finding time and privacy is a problem with young kids. And it's hard to get in the mood when you feel like you're a walking burp rag, but you know, Matt's a well-endowed guy, and before I had kids it was always a little uncomfortable. When I had Peter he kind of stretched things out and it's much more enjoyable for me now."

"Huh. Good to know. I mean, about the kids part, not about your husband, could have done without that honestly."

"Come on, Donna, what did you expect? Just look at him, his feet are huge," Margaret admonishes me.

"Oh hell, this is why I don't break the seal," Helen exclaims. "I'll be back again."

Margaret and Carol use Helen's departure as opportunity to get up and clear some plates from the coffee table and bring them to the kitchen leaving me and CJ alone in the living room.

"Having some second thoughts about having kids there, CJ?" I ask gently.

"No, I mean yes, I just… Danny and I just got into a rhythm and now I feel like there's so much pressure." She falls silent for a moment.

"Yeah I get it. I'm still just finding my way too. I mean not with the kids thing, but with the relationship, you know."

"Tell me about the first time you had sex," she says from where she's slumped backwards on her chair.

"When I was 16?" I ask, confused.

"No, I mean, with …." CJ waves her hand and drapes it over her forehead. Yeah, she's wasted.

"You can't even say his name because it squicks you out but you want to know about the first time we had sex?" It's strange to me that no one has really used Josh's name at all tonight except me. Margaret even used an old nickname for him rather than calling him by name. It's really starting to creep me out.

"Yeah."

"You're strange."

"I don't want to know about the like, details, I want to know what it felt like you know…"

For a former Press Secretary that was possibly the most inarticulate sentence she's ever uttered, but since it's CJ I know what she's getting at.

"Honestly, I felt like Icarus at first."

"Afraid you'd end up drowning?"

"Mmm, kind of. I was afraid that I'd gotten to close to the sun and my wings would melt. Ultimately the fear of drowning in him again was a real fear."

"He looks, I don't know another way of saying this, but self-assured in a mature way."

"Smug?" Margaret supplies as she re-enters the room with a glass of water.

"Oh, he was always smug," CJ and I giggle. "And cocky."

"He's like cocky without the insecurity behind it, almost in a magnanimous way now. It's suddenly all about him but not all about him. I don't know how else to put it," CJ clarifies.

"Mmm," Margaret says, "he has BDE."

"BDE?" CJ looks to her for clarification.

"Big Dick Energy. It's like because you know you have a big dick you can be self-assured in a generous way because you don't need to prove yourself to anyone."

"Ok, well, he has BDE and, Donna, I pray you don't tell me, or even hint to me if it's…physically merited. I'm just saying he wasn't like that during transition, so it must be about you."

I can't help but smile at her words. This is what CJ is like. She's ruthless and merciless when you cross her, but also warm and genuine when she pays you a compliment or looks deep into your soul to reassure you. She doesn't always have the best answer, and she knows that, but she really wants to be a good friend, too.

"I can't believe you guys moved in together so quickly," CJ says. "Looking around here it's like you've been living here for years. Don't you ever miss your independence?"

I shrug. "I'd known I wanted him for years. Hell, you all knew I wanted him. As far as I was concerned, once I knew he was actually going to commit to the relationship it was like, what's the point of waiting? I'd already been living in his orbit for so long there really weren't any surprises for me."

"But there were surprises for him, I'm sure," CJ snorts.

"Well shortly after I moved in, he did find that box of gag gifts you got me for my 30th birthday, Margaret, and I think he about had a heart attack." I can still see his face as he realized, somewhat erroneously, that the equipment he had so long ago joked about really did exist. I let him labor under the illusion that I'd had them and used them for years for a little while before I burst his bubble and told him where they'd really come from and that I hadn't even ever removed most of them from the box they came in.

"Oh, to be you, young and only in your early thirties. I envy your young eggs," CJ laments morosely and I wonder for the first time if we should have gone with Carol's egg theme.

Margaret nods, "Did you have to explain the jeweled butt plug to him?"

"Oh no, he knew exactly what it was. He's a very smart man, you know."

I'm sure Margaret's about to ask me if we used the piece of "equipment" in question but Carol interrupts her. "Donna, I think the First Lady is passed out in your bed."

"I hope she made it to the bathroom first," I utter before I really think through what I just said.

Then all four of us look at each other wide-eyed, unsure what to make of this development. It's not even that we're approaching the tabloid fodder that is the First Lady passed out in the Chief of Staff's bed, and it's not that Helen's done something seriously problematic, it's just, when did we become the responsible ones? Abby Bartlet was always our mother hen and now Helen is our peer. It's a strange, if not sudden, transition.

"She was snorting pretty good in there," Carol supplies, "I'd just let her sleep it off."

I glance down at my watch and am surprised to see it's past 1 AM. Immediately I whip my cell phone out of my pocket and dial the President's body man. "Mick, I'm sorry to call so late, but it seems Helen has enjoyed herself a lot tonight and it'd be best if she stayed the night here. Can you make sure the President isn't expecting her?"

Mick assures me that she'd already warned the President Santos as well as Miranda and Peter that they should expect to see her in the morning.

"You know we should probably get going too," Carol says. "CJ looks like she's about to pass out there herself."

"I'm fine," CJ barks from under her arm.

"CJ, you take the bathroom first while we clean up. There are clean sheets on the guest bed, just make yourself at home," I direct.

With Carol's help, I make a cursory pass at picking things in the living room and kitchen up and as I see her and Margaret out, I alert Helen's detail that she's in for the night.

I pause for a moment after locking the door to the apartment and smile. I don't think there will be many more nights like this, but it feels good to savor the feeling.

I wake up to a strange yelping noise. I crack my eyes open and find that the room is very bright.

"Jesus!" I exclaim and squint my eyes.

"Not Jesus, just Josh," He deadpans.

I sit up and crack my back. I remember this couch being much more comfortable.

"What time is it?"

"8," he says as he sits on the corner of the couch and leans in to kiss me. He avoids my mouth, because morning breath, but instead places 3 kisses along my jaw and neck.

It's his standard morning routine, except that normally he's also trying to undress me.

"Oh, it's still early."

"Why is the First Lady in our bed?"

"We got pretty drunk last night," I admit. "She passed out in there before the party even ended."

"Yeah, imagine my surprise when I went in to kiss her and found out it was the wrong blonde."

"Oh God, you didn't?"

"No, I didn't, but imagine how fun it was for me to see all the color drain out of your face as you imagined that happening."

All I can do is thwack the back of his head in response.

"Oh come on, no sense of humor? It's because you slept on the couch isn't it?"

"CJ's in the guest room."

I figured that would be the case, I was going to go in there and harass her next.

"Ok," I yawn. "I guess I'll start some coffee."

I've just set the coffee pot to percolate when I hear "Good Morning Claudia Jean. This is your wake up call!" along with a noise which I assume is Josh throwing open the curtains in our guest room.

"Joshua!" I hear her roar and I can't help but giggle. Then I hear a stream of muffled profanity first from CJ, then a noise that I imagine is her smacking him upside the head before Josh then lets loose some profanity of his own. They're like brother and sister sometimes, I swear.

I'm just opening up a few containers with breakfast items as he returns to the kitchen with a canary grin on his face.

"Morning Donna, Morning Josh," Helen greets as she enters the kitchen behind him. I'm amused to find that she hasn't made much of an effort to pull herself together.

"Good Morning Ma'am. Sleep ok?" Josh says politely, but with slight amusement in his voice. I can tell he wants very badly to point out that she slept in his bed last night and is making great efforts at restraining himself. The opportunity to harass CJ has apparently put in him a surprisingly good mood this morning.

"Mm hmm," she returns as she stretches.

Josh sidles up behind me. His hands linger on my stomach just under my t-shirt and come to rest on my hips as he and leans over my shoulder. I hand him a cup of coffee and he gives me a playful grope on the ass as a thank you before he moves away to look through the muffins and croissants I just set out for breakfast.

"God that's…actually not weird at all," CJ remarks about our display of affection as she shuffles into the kitchen.

Helen perches on a stool at the breakfast bar and I slide a cup of coffee to her. As a former assistant I make it my business to know how she takes her coffee. She takes a grateful sip. Then her eyes open wide. "Josh!?"

"Ma'am?" he answers, confused.

"Why are you here? Is Matt looking for me?"

Uh, he's clearly confused. "No, and if he did, I would hope it wouldn't be me he called…."

He can tell she's looking for more explanation, but he's not sure why. Then I quickly see recognition register on her face.

"Air Force One…Oh my God I get it now."

Josh is still confused. "What about Air Force One, ma'am?"

"Helen wants to have sex on Air Force One," I blurt out quickly. Helen looks aghast.

Josh takes it in stride. "Well, ma'am I'm thinking that's something you want to discuss with the President, but I'm sure we could make sure to clear some time for that on our next trip."

After that he wanders out of the kitchen with his coffee and a bagel.

"Donna!" Helen whisper shouts at me. 

"Hey, you violated the rule, what happens at girl's night says at girl's night, there had to be punishment."

CJ snickers from behind her coffee cup.

"I can't believe you actually just told Josh Lyman that I wanted to have sex on Air Force One," she mutters.

I shrug, "But you do and he's in a position to help you make it happen."

CJ groans at the inadvertent double entendre.

"Sounds more like he was in a position to help you make it happen," Helen clarifies raising one eyebrow. "And how in the hell did I not know you were sleeping with my husband's Chief of Staff?"

"And on the same airplane no less," CJ offers helpfully.

"It's not my job to bring my personal life into the White House," I explain. "Also, you never asked."

"Was it him who you did-"

"Nope, the time for questions is over, girl's night is over and we need to get you home because we have mid-morning tea with the Arlington chapter of the DAR in…and hour and 45 minutes and it's going to take me at least that long to rehydrate and cover up these bags," I say pointing to my under eye.

Helen gives me a slight pout. "At least let me use the bathroom first."

"Please."

"Donna," she stops at the entry to the kitchen, "I had a really good time last night, thanks for letting me come."

I smile widely at her. "Even if there are going to be rumors about me and Air Force One now."

I laugh. "Don't worry, Josh is pretty good at keeping secrets."

Later that night Josh groans as he sinks into bed next to me.

"Not that Sam's guest bed is bad, but can I tell you just how happy I am to be in my own bed with my woman tonight?"

I can't help but smile at him. I put down the report about the school lunch program that I'm reading and lay back on my pillow contentedly as his hand drifts possessively over my stomach.

"I feel like I barely saw you today. Did you ladies have fun last night?"

"Yeah, we really did. Thanks for vacating for us."

"It really wasn't a problem. I was in the Sit Room until pretty late anyway, then Sam and I watched a replay of a Spring Training game. It kinda reminded me of old times actually. When I had fewer responsibilities."

"Speaking of responsibilities and wistful times, it sounds like the President and Peter are getting kind of home sick. We're out of the first 100 days now, do you think I could arrange a trip for them to go back home for Memorial Day? I they they'd welcome the break."

"Yeah, I don't see why not as long as things in Kazakhstan don't ratchet back up too much."

"Ok, do you think you'd want to go with them? To Texas," I clarify.

"Maybe," he says absently. Then he rolls over on his side and starts picking absently at the hem of my camisole. "I can't say I much like Texas, but it'd be nice to get out of the fishbowl that is DC for a few days at least."

I don't often think of Josh as stifling under the lens that is the political microscope, but I briefly imagine what it would be like to be able to be publicly romantic with him in a way that's just not possible around the District. One of the reasons Helen didn't know we were a couple is because we've been studiously avoiding the media so as not to become features of the DC fishbowl Josh just mentioned.

"OK, I'll see what it would take to go, just for a few days. A long weekend maybe."

"Speaking of a trip, you told Mrs. Santos we had sex on Air Force One didn't you?"

"Yeah," I admit sheepishly. "But I really didn't give her any details and I'm pretty sure she's not going to tell the President."

"Oh, he already knows."

"Josh!" I recoil, horrified. "It's one thing to tell the First Lady as a girlfriend, but the President?" It's strange how I immediately feel exposed by just thinking that the President, who obviously knows I am a grown woman who probably sex sometimes, now knows I did on Air Force One.

"It's fine," he says soothingly. "He was jealous actually."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Like he wished it had occurred to him before and he could have said he'd done it too. Jesus Donna, not like he was jealous he wasn't invited."

"Ok."

"I don't think he's into threesomes. At least, it wasn't in the opposition research."

"Well, I was thinking a foursome…"

"No, I don't think he's into that either. At least not that I'm aware of," Josh laughs.

"Good, I guess, because if that was the case, I was worried about what disclosures I'd have to make at the next girl's night."


End file.
